Jus ad Bellum
by sallydeathhands
Summary: Jus in Bello tag. Brotherhood AU Dean runs into trouble after Monument, Colorado, as gunshot wounds are always complicated.
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** Jus ad Bellum

**Author:** Kalmiel

**Rating:** T

**Disclaimer: **I do not own the Winchester brother, or any of the Supernatural people or places. Nor the Impala. (But if offered Jensen Ackles, I would _gladly _accept) They all belong to a freakin' genius named Eric Kripke and Robert Singer and the CW.

Nor do I own the characters of Caleb Reaves or Mackland Ames or the wonderful Brotherhood. That belongs to another genius named Ridley C. James, who created the entire amazing concept, and graciously allows us peons to use the characters. Thank you, Ridley.

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**A/N: **_To those of you who read Ridley's stories, she's currently writing an awesome fic called '__**To the Victor Goes The Spoils' **__But my fic doesn't connect with hers at all, because they is no possible way I can compete with her grins _

_So just to give you guys a heads up, this story will contain Brotherhood characters (Caleb, Mac and Dr. Elizabeth McCroy) but has nothing at all to with Ridley's fic. Nor does this have anything to do with the two previous one-shots I wrote. This is something new… a plot bunny I just couldn't get rid of. _

* * *

_**Pastor Jim's Cabin**_

_**Blue Earth, Minnesota **_

_**Present Day**_

"So let me get this straight," Caleb sat at Jim's scrubbed wooden table. "Henriksen got hold of you-"

"Yeah, thanks to Bela… the bitch." Dean muttered.

Caleb growled at the mention of the thief's name. "I swear to God, when I get hold of her… she's a dead woman."

No one set his friend up and then allowed him and Sammy to get surrounded by a horde of demons and then simply walk away. Not the future _Scholar_ and _Guardian_. Not on his watch.

No freakin' way.

Not to mention Deuce got shot. That _really _pissed him off royally.

Right now both he, Deuce, Sammy, and Caleb's father, Dr. Mackland Ames were all sitting around the table. Mackland was examining Dean's shoulder; which was an ugly, infected, and as it turned out, broken mess.

The doctor in question hissed with displeasure as he probed Dean's shoulder as gently as he could.

But even that gentle touch must have been agony to the injured body part, as Caleb watched his closest friend go milk-white, and sweat broke out on his forehead, dampening his short blond hair.

But Dean Winchester personified stubborn and his pain tolerance was famous.

He didn't say a word or murmur of protest.

"Damn it Dean… this shoulder is horrible. You should have called us sooner."

Dean's jade-green eyes turned hard and rather flinty. "I'm _so _sorry Mac. I was sorta in jail when the shooting occurred. Then Sammy and I were busting our asses trying to get everyone out alive," he paused, then added bitterly. "For all the freakin' good it did."

Caleb frowned, hearing the all-too familiar self-loathing in Deuce's voice.

He reached out and grabbed his friend's good arm. "Listen to me Deuce, and listen hard. You had no idea that the crazy demon bitch…" he glanced over at Sam. "What did your buddy Ruby say her name was?"

"Lillith." Sammy said quietly, his brown gaze focused mournfully on the angry wreck that was his older brother's shoulder, and fought back a shudder.

"_Lillith _was gonna turn up there after your mass exorcism. You were trying to save a innocent kid from getting her freakin' heart cut out, for hell's sake."

Mac sighed, and all three of the younger hunters looked at him expectantly.

Sitting back in his chair, Mac said. "Dean's shoulder needs cleans out thoroughly, stitched and set. And you need I.V. fluids and antibiotics."

_And probably a blood transfusion, too, _He thought looking at Dean's paper-white skin.

He sighed again. "I'll call in a favor to Elizabeth McCroy. Providing she's still working at the hospital," he added, almost grudgingly. "She is an excellent physician… she might have been lured away to a more prestigious position somewhere else."

Dr. Elizabeth McCroy had been called out to patch them up after the aftermath of hunting accident more than once, and Caleb and Dean had been in her hospital also.

So Pastor Jim had let her in out their little secret, and she helped out when they needed more medical help than Mac could provide without a hospital.

Dean slanted a sideways glance at Mac. "The hospital? Why do I gotta go to the freakin' hospital?"

Caleb sighed. Typical Deuce… typical Winchester stubbornness, trying to act like a superhero.

"Because genius, you have an infected bullet wound and a broken shoulder-blade and collarbone. Probably need a blood transfusion, too, by the color of your skin. Need I go on?"

"Can't Mac just patch me up here," Dean asked somewhat mournfully. "He has before."

"Simple wounds- stitches, concussions, yes. A shoulder badly broken and infected is not 'simple'. I don't have the proper equipment, and you need an X-Ray to make sure it's set properly. Or you'll loose function in that arm," Mac paused. "And I don't have to warn you that without the antibiotics, the danger of sepsis and-"

"Fuck," Dean swore interrupting Mac's tirade. "Well, at least call and make sure she's still working there before we go striding in there."

Mac nodded, striding over to pick up the phone. "That, at least, I can do."

Dean nodded, and as soon as Mac was out of the room, he finally let down his guard, and slumped down limply in his chair.

"Deuce?" Caleb asked in alarm at the same time Sam cried out "Dean!"

Who opened one jade-green eye, hazy with fever. "What Damien?"

"Just makin' sure you were checking out on us Big Guy," Caleb replied. He reached over, and placed a hand on Dean's forehead, despite Deuce's feeble attempts to brush it away.

Caleb hissed. Dean was on fire, touching his forehead was like touching a hot stove… it was radiating such fierce heat.

Swearing, Caleb dug through Mac's black bag, and pulled out a new thermometer. He ripped it out of the package, and shoved it under Dean's tongue before his stubborn friend could utter a word of protest.

But he could see it starting in his eyes, so Caleb wagged a finger. "No-no-no. You're so hot, you feel you've been in a oven. The thermometer stays in Deuce."

The was quick; taking roughly sixty seconds to get a reading.

104.1

"Shit!"

* * *

TBC...?


	2. Chapter 2

"Shit!" Mackland Ames rarely cursed, except for emergencies.

He'd barely gotten confirmation that Dr. Elizabeth McCroy did indeed still work at St. Mary's now as the hospital administrator before he was promptly put on hold.

Mac was impressed; Dr. McCroy had indeed moved up in the world.

So he was still on hold when his son burst into the kitchen, looking slightly wild-eyed.

"Dad, have you gotten hold of Dr. McCroy?" There was a worry that was almost bordering on panic in Caleb's voice.

Mac sighed. "No. All I've found out is that she does still work there… is the hospital administrator now," Mac scowled down at the phone. "Now I'm on hold."

"Well, we'll just have to go down to St. Mary's and find her. We don't have time to wait on the phone."

"What's wrong?"

"It's Deuce. He almost fainted, so I felt his forehead. He felt _really_ hot, so I took his temp. It's up to 104.1, and probably rising as we speak."

Mac immediately hung up the phone. "Fuck." Of course his son was right. By the time he was finally connected to Dr. McCroy, Dean's temperature would probably be high enough to fry an egg on his head.

Not to mention it would probably fry his brains.

Not waiting for an answer, Caleb went back out to the dining room. Mac followed close on his heels.

Opening the door, they nearly collided with Sam, whose young face was tight with worry and fear.

"Sammy," Caleb felt his own fear kick up a notch. "What's wrong?"

As if he already didn't know.

"Dean," Sam replied, fright making his voice thin and broken. "He was going in and out of consciousness. Now I can't wake him up."

All three of them darted out to the living room to see Dean slumped in the chair his head lolling bonelessly to the side.

Mac cursed, and practically sprinted over to Dean's side.

He could now feel the heat radiating from Dean's body. How could he have missed such a high and obvious fever?

Caleb was obviously reading him because he said quietly, placing a hand on his father's shoulder. "Because you were focused on his shoulder, Dad. An obvious injury that needed immediate attention."

Sam was hovering nearby, anxiety written in every part of his body. "So what are we gonna do?" he asked anxiously, his eyes wide and glued to the unconscious form of his beloved older brother.

Mac stuck the thermometer in Dean's mouth again, cringing at the lack of protest. At the utter silence, at the lack of movement.

Dean Matthew Winchester was _never _still and silent.

He was always moving.

Even in his sleep, he was moving, a light, restless, uneasy sleep.

The sleep of a soldier constantly on guard against creatures that most people didn't even knew existed.

Again, a mere sixty seconds later, the thermometer beeped.

Mac swore again. For someone who didn't do it often, he was doing it quite a lot today.

In the few short minutes since his son had summoned him, Dean's temp had already risen. The numbers on the digital readout were plain and stark.

And frightening.

105.3

Both Sammy and Caleb were looking at Mac, a mixture of fear and pleading on both of their faces.

Mac quickly made a decision. "Sammy, go call 911. Tell them we need an ambulance at this address right away."

Sam needed no prodding. He darted back out to the kitchen.

Caleb smoothed back his best friend's blond absently, wincing at the heat.  
He looked at his father. "Should I carry him over to the sofa? Elevate his legs so he doesn't go into shock?"

Mac nodded. "Actually, that's probably a very good idea. Here let me-"

"I've got him," Caleb replied, taking Dean gently in his arms, careful to avoid jarring the injured shoulder. He shuddered at how excruciatingly hot Dean felt in his arms. He also felt fragile, as if he hadn't been eating.

He sat him down on the sofa with the care you would a newborn infant, Mac at the other end, busily propping up his legs.

Caleb began to undid Dean's jeans, as it fell under the area of "restricting clothing' and replaced them with baggy sweatpants.

He stared down at his best and closest friend for a long moment, studying him.

At that moment, Dean looked so physically fragile- his face looked really thin, and his skin was paper-white was stretched tautly over the bones, making him look like a skull. The effect was added by the dark, sunken hollows under his closed lids.

Every second he looked at Deuce…as how incredibly fragile he looked, all he wanted to do was to track down Bela Talbot and rip her throat out with her his bare hands,

Mac looked up at his son, and cocked an eyebrow at his son. Obviously he'd caught Caleb's furious, unguarded thought, but said nothing.

Because truthfully, Dr. Mackland Ames felt the same way,

Sammy came sprinting back inside the living room, looking scared. "They said the ambulance couldn't get here for at least fifteen minutes, but it would probably take longer. Something about a four car pile-up."

Both Mac and Caleb cursed simultaneously.

Sam's worried hazel puppy-dog gaze went from Mac to Caleb to Mac again before finally settling on the limp, pale, unmoving form of his brother.

Caleb had followed Sam's gaze and his eyes, too, were locked on Deuce. And although he usually hated hospitals and everything connected to them, right now he'd give a limb to hear the whine of the approaching siren of that damn ambulance.

But all he could hear was their combined breathing. Deuce's pained, hitching breath, his and Sam's rather frightened quick inhalations and exhalations and his father's attempt at even breathing.

* * *

Mac followed their gaze and his face tightened.

There was no way he was just going to sit here and let Dean, this young man he loved like his own son die right before his eyes.

So he made a decision

"Sam, go call back 911 and cancel the ambulance. Tell them that we're bringing him in ourselves-"

The younger Winchester frowned, his brown eyes fearful, face set on extra tense. "But I thought you said it could be dangerous to try and move him without medical supervision?" They had discussed this plan earlier as twelve minutes had gone by and there was still no sign of the ambulance

Mac sighed, and placed a hand on Sam's shoulder. "Yes," he said quietly. "It is. But I'm afraid that if his fever gets any higher, he'll soon start having seizures and it might cause brain damage."

A look of horror crossed Sam's face, and he didn't need any more convincing, as he turned and sprinted for the kitchen phone again.

Mac looked at Caleb. "I'm going to fill a cooler with cool towels and ice packs. You stay here… talk to him… see if you can rouse him to any sort of consciousness."

The doctor turned and quickly disappeared into the kitchen after Sammy.

Leaving Caleb alone with his feverish, unconscious best friend.

"Hey Deuce," Caleb said, kneeling down beside the sofa, and taking Dean's limp, hot hand in his own. "Why in the hell do always insist on scaring the crap outta me like this?"

He waited, wishing Dean would wake up and accuse him of blatantly acting like a woman with speech and the hand-holding.

But Dean didn't stir.

"God, you're such a stubborn S.O.B. Just like your old man."

Still no response. So Caleb switched to pleading.

"Come on Deuce… what kind of Knight am I if I let the future Guardian get his brains get friend because a fever? Cause' a possessed deputy _shot _you, of all things? On my watch, too Deuce. Johnny would have my ass."

There was a weak cough, a even fainter moan, and Dean moved slightly.

Caleb's heart started beating faster. "Deuce? You with me buddy? It's Damien."

Dean's eyelids flickered for a moment, then to Caleb's delight, they opened.

But the jade-green eyes were glassy from the ever-rising fever.

"Deuce?" Caleb tried anyway.

Dean's eyes seemingly stared right through him and Caleb's knew that with a sinking heart, Deuce might've been awake-but he really wasn't here with him.

"I couldn't let him die, Bobby. I couldn't. He's my brother." Dean's voice was filled with anguish.

Caleb frowned. What in the hell memory was Dean re-living?

"That's my point. Dad brought me back, Bobby. I'm not even supposed to be here. At least this way, something good could come out of it, you know? It's like my life could mean something."

Caleb gaped in astonishment at Dean's quiet, anguish-filled statement.

Okay, he had to get to the bottom of this. And there was only way to do so…

He clenched Dean's hand tighter, and after taking a deep breath, plunged into his best friend's mind, straining against the images of water. Something which was apparently a Guardian thing, as it was all he ever got when he tried to read Jim.

But apparently the stress of the injury combined with the blood loss and fever, allowed him access to Dean's memories.

He was in.

* * *

_They were all standing in the middle of Bobby's salvage yard. Dean, Bobby, and Caleb._

Although Caleb was nothing but a silent, invisible observer.

Bobby was gripping Dean's shoulders and was shaking him fiercely.

"You stupid ass! What did you do? WHAT DID YOU DO!" Bobby was looking angrier than Caleb had ever seen him and he was startled. Bobby rarely got angry, and especially not with Dean, who was Bobby's favorite.

"You made a deal… for Sam didn't you," Bobby's voice was changing… thickening with tears. "How long they give ya-"

Dean looked away, apparently unable to meet Bobby's face. "Bobby-"

"HOW LONG!"

Dean looked back at him steadily, green eyes cool. "One year."

Caleb stumbled backwards, feeling icy-cold terror grab hold of him and not let go.

"Damn it Dean." Bobby growled, but there was pain on his grizzled face.

"Which is why we gotta find this yellow-eyed son-of-a-bitch. Which is why I'm gonna kill him myself. I mean, I got nothin' to lose now." Dean spoke coolly.

"I could THROTTLE you!" Bobby snapped, grabbing hold of Dean by the shoulders as if to make good on his threat.

"And send me downstairs ahead of schedule?" Dean asked

Bobby released Dean, rather reluctantly it seemed. "What is it with you Winchesters, huh? You, your dad. You're both just itching to throw yourselves down the pit."

"That's my point," Dean spoke softly. "Dad brought me back, Bobby. I'm not even supposed to be here. At least this way, something good could come out of it, you know? It's like my life could mean something."

Echoing the disbelief Caleb felt, Bobby seized Dean again. "What? And it didn't before! Have you got that low of an opinion of yourself? Are you that screwed in the head!"

Fighting unshed tears. Dean said in a choked voice. "I couldn't let him die, Bobby. I couldn't. He's my brother."

Bobby looked at him, and Caleb saw that the older hunter appeared to have tears glimmering in his brown eyes. "How's your brother gonna feel when he knows you're going to hell? How'd you feel when you knew your dad went for you?"

* * *

With a wrench that was almost painful, Caleb pulled himself out of Dean's mind.

He stared down at Dean, whose eyes had closed again, sick with breathless horror.

Deuce had sold his soul. He was going to hell.

Sam chose this moment to come running back in, obviously eager to be with his brother. "Okay, the ambulance has been-" he abruptly broke off, seeing the distraught expression on Caleb's face.

And he promptly panicked. "What's wrong? Has he gotten worse?"

Caleb closed his eyes for a moment, then overwhelming sadness washed over him, nearly unmanning him.

Finally, he opened them and looked at Sam, feeling near tears. "I know a-about the deal."

All of the blood drained from Sam's face in a rush and he whispered "How did you-"

"Know? Took a little trip into Deuce's head. Seems the fever wears down the Guardian thing," Caleb swallowed; and his voice dropped to a sad whisper. Why didn't you-"

"Tell you," Sam's own voice filled with quiet sorrow. "After I found out… after the whole deal with the Devil's Gate and Dean killing the Yellow-Eyed demon… he made me promise not to tell you."

Caleb didn't even need to ask why Dean had made the promise of Sam.

It was pure Deuce… Selfless. It was because he wanted to spare Caleb any unnecessary pain.

"But I also promised," Sam went on with determination. "That I would save him."

Caleb gave a small smile, his eyes burning with unshed tears. "No. _We'll _save him together, Runt."

It was then that Mac choose to enter, bearing the cooler filled the icy towels.

"You two are going to save whom? Dean will be fine boys, I swear."

Reading the melancholy look on both boys' faces, Mac asked slowly. "This is about something else, isn't it."

"Yeah. But let's get Deuce to the hospital first, okay?"

Mac nodded slowly. "All right. But we will discuss this later."

"Yeah," Caleb said grimly. "We will."

* * *


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N- Thanks to all my reviewers… you guys rock! I never expected such a response to this… it was just a little plot bunny that wouldn't leave my head. But truly, thanks. You guys keep me writing.**

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**And on a side note I'll be referencing some of Ridley's fics. So the things that are familiar to you… they belong not to me, but to Ridley. Once again, thank you Rid! Life would be so much more boring without your incredible series**

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**St. Mary's Hospital**

**Blue Earth, Minnesota**

**One Hour Later**

* * *

Dean really didn't want to open his eyes, he resisted even after he awake and aware.

Because a part of him wanted to hide, to give up this long, seemingly relentless battle that he'd seemed to have been fighting forever.

But a larger and stronger part of him knew that to give now would be surrendering to the darkness. The darkness he'd fought against for twenty-four years.

The darkness that had destroyed his life.

He opened his eyes. He was in a hospital room, he knew that almost automatically. The overhead lights were placed on dim, which his aching head appreciated. Sounds were hushed, with the exception of the rhythmic beating of a heart monitor.

"Deuce," Caleb must have noticed his awakening. "How you doing, kiddo?"

Dean's mouth was Sahara-desert dry, so when he spoke, his voice came out as a croak. "Better."

Caleb reached at the bedside table and grabbed a small paper cup full of cool water. He raised Dean's bed and helped him drink his water.

"Small, slow sips," Caleb cautioned. "And you can't have too much."

Dean fell back against the bed, exhausted from that little effort, soaked in a cold sweat. "I know the drill, Damien," he looked around, seeing for the first time they were alone. "Where's Sammy and Mac?"

"The Runt is down getting his twelfth coffee of the day. Mac is talking to Dr. McCroy 'bout you."

Studying his best friend, Dean knew there was something off in Caleb's posture and tone.

"Something wrong Damien?"

Caleb looked briefly at Dean, then focused his attention out the small window. "I know about the deal, Dean. The deal for Sammy."

Dean felt his breathing stop, and he felt like he'd been shot again, jolt was so severe "What? How?"

Turning back to Dean, Caleb turned his intense gold gaze on him. "Read your mind," Caleb swallowed hard, then choked out. "Damn it Deuce… how could you?"

"Because I couldn't let him die… he's my brother, Damien."

Caleb swiped roughly at his eyes. "It would've hurt like hell to lose Sammy… you know I love the Runt, too. But you -_you…_ Deuce… you're my best friend… and the little brother I never had."

Dean stared at him for a beat. "Cristo." he deadpanned.

"Goddamn it Dean, this isn't funny! You made a deal to go to hell!"

"Yes, I know," Dean exhaled. "But like I said… I couldn't let him die, Caleb. I just couldn't. And it's my job to watch out for him."

"Bullshit. He's your brother, not your-"

Dean tried to sit up, but fell back, gasping in pain.

"Shit," Caleb said, as he quickly moved over to the side of the hospital bed. "Deuce, you okay?"

Dean ignored him, his breath coming in harsh bursts. "He's more than just my brother, and you damn well know it. I practically raised him."

Caleb closed his eyes, and he knew there was no denying Dean's words.

John Winchester had been an incredible hunter, an excellent Knight… but as a father he had sucked.

He had often left his children alone in crappy motels and even crappier rented houses, leaving Dean to take of his younger brother.

To Caleb's recollection, the first time it had happened was when Dean was six-years-old.

A six-year-old, taking care of his two-year-old brother.

When he had gotten old enough, Caleb had tried to help, staying with them as often as he could. But John encouraged independence in his children, so there was a lot of times when they were alone.

Caleb sat on the bottom of Dean's bed, his head bowed low so Dean couldn't see the tears in his eyes. "Shit," he whispered. He swiped roughly at his cheeks. "This is going to kill me Deuce. If I can't save you-"

Dean's head snapped up. "Which you can't. I'm sorry Damien, but you can't. If we try to screw around with the deal, Sammy will die."

"And if we don't look for something, _you're _going to die," he raised his head. "I won't do it Deuce… I can't- I can't lose you like I did your dad. That nearly broke me, and to lose you would be ten times worse."

"Then we'll find a way to do it… without endangering Samuel." came another voice from the doorway.

Dean looked up to see Mac standing there, leaning against the doorframe. Sam was behind, holding a Styrofoam cup of coffee, looking simultaneously nervous and wired.

Glaring at Caleb, Dean said. "Dude… you told your dad?"

"No," Caleb corrected. "I told the Scholar. There's a difference."

"It's the same thing."

Mac took a chair by Dean's bed, and leaned forward. "I promise you Dean, we won't endanger Sam."

Caleb nodded, and locked eyes with Dean, gripped his hand tightly. "You know I won't stop until I find a way to save you. I'm _not _going to let you die."

"Caleb-"

"Shut up," Caleb said, his voice rough from restrained tears. "For once in your life Deuce, shut up… and let someone else save you."

Dean opened his mouth, but Caleb shook his head. "Didn't I just tell you to shut up?" But there was no harshness in his tone, merely affection heavily mixed with sadness.

* * *

Dean closed his eyes, his head throbbing. At the time of Sammy's death, all he could see was the end of his family… the death of someone he'd raised like his own child. Consumed with overwhelming grief that had swallowed him whole.

But now that Sam was alive, and the clock that was counting down was Dean's… he could see how many people he was going to hurt with his death.

Mac, Bobby, Missouri, Ellen, Jo, Cassie (if anyone bothered to tell her), Lisa… and Sammy and Caleb.

He felt like he was stuck between the biggest rock and hardest place in his life.

He never wanted to hurt anyone he loved… especially Caleb, Sammy, and Mac.

But he couldn't change it, and didn't want to. Sam was alive, and maybe his brother was right when he had said that it was selfish when Dean had brought him back.

He felt that he deserved at least one selfish act.

Besides, maybe this was fate's way of balancing the books. His father had died for him, went to hell. Now he was going for Sammy.

Caleb stared at him, amber eyes swirling with darkness. "I know that look on your face Deuce. What's going on in that freaky head of yours?"

"Nothing." Nothing that Caleb needed to know. It would just make him upset.

But it was hard keeping any secrets from a psychic. When Dean clammed up, Caleb merely brushed out with his mind, extending a tendril of psychic energy towards him, and _pushed._

It took a little more effort than last time, as Dean's fever had receded a little. But the kid's defenses were still down.

And picked up the thought immediately and became angry. "Stop thinking that way Deuce. That's crap."

"What?" Sam asked, his head swiveling between his brother and Caleb.

Dean sighed, and burrowed his head deeper into the flimsy hospital pillow.

"Genius here thinks that dying and going to hell will balance things out-"

Dean cut him off. "It's true Caleb… not only did my dad throw away his life… went to _hell _for me, but I was living on borrowed time as it was. Marshall Hall's time."

Caleb loomed over him, his face angrier than Dean had ever seen it.

He looked like he wanted to actually hit Dean.

Who simply stared up at him, his jade-green eyes calm and accepting.

__

Waiting

for Caleb to deliver the blow… actually wanting him to.

* * *

Caleb let his arm fall to the side. He could never, _ever, _purposely cause Dean pain.

But he continued to lock gazes with Dean, and repeated once more. "You know I'm not gonna let this happen to you, right? No matter what it takes."

Dean gave Caleb such a hard look, it made Sam want to step back.

But Caleb stood firm, not shifting an inch.

Glaring, hot sparks from his eyes. Dean stated flatly. "I'm not gonna let you do anything stupid."

"_That's _the pot calling the kettle black Deuce."

To that, Dean responded with a rude hand gesture.

"Stop it both of you," Mac snapped, rising slightly from his chair. "Right this instant!"

Dean let his hand drop, and Caleb fell silent.

"Son," Mac said to Caleb. "Sit."

Slowly, and with great reluctance it seemed, Caleb sank into the hard plastic chair next to his father.

"Now… we'll discuss this calmly and rationally. Like adults."

At that, Sam couldn't help but snort in amusement.

And Mac couldn't help but grin as both Caleb and Dean whipped their heads towards the younger Winchester and said in unison. "Shut your pie-hole Sam!"

"What?" Sam had on what Dean recognized at once as his 'innocent' face.

It might have fooled Dean countless times when they were children… one of the many 'Sammy' faces the kid had in his arsenal to use against his older brother.

But not anymore.

A small half-grin curled up the side of Sam's mouth. "What," he repeated. "I didn't say anything." he said, with more than a hint of mock-sweetness in his voice.

"Sam, don't make me come over there and bitch-slap you." Dean warned.

But of course, the light-heartedness couldn't last forever, and once again the conversation took a deadly serious turn.

Both Mac and Sam, sensing the thick and utter turmoil in the room; stood.

"Samuel and I are going to the cafeteria," Mac announced in his no-nonsense voice. "You two… settle this."

And without another word or backwards glance, they both left.

**Still enjoying this? I hope so...**

* * *


	4. Chapter 4

_**Once again, thanks to my loyal reviewers! (grins) I love you guys! Nothing makes me happier than to read how much**_

**_you're enjoying this! _**

* * *

For the longest moment, both Dean and Caleb simply stared at each other.

The expression on Caleb's face tired and very angry.

Dean's was simply tired, and he raised a weary right eyebrow. "Something the matter, Damien?"

That was the last straw for Caleb, who exploded with a tsunami of rage and shock.

"What-is-the-MATTER!" he raged. He stood up, because he was obviously too pissed off to sit.

He started off by pacing, and eventually ended up standing by Dean.

For a brief moment, Dean was sure that Caleb was going to slug him, despite the fact that he was in a hospital bed, despite the fact that Caleb had _never _before struck him.

Angry amber eyes met jade-green ones as flat as glass.

Caleb's hands clenched tightly as he shifted his weight slightly.

He swallowed hard. "Jesus, I wish to God I _could _punch your lights out. Maybe it would knock some fucking sense into your goddamn head!"

Dean gave him a twisted grin, his cheeks still containing the lurid flush from his slowly receding fever.

"Well," he replied. "You can always wait til' after I'm outta the hospital. _Then _you can wallop on me to your heart's content. How's that sound? That blow your skirt up Damien?"

Dean watched as Caleb's fists tightened even further and it looked as though he was going skip the part of the hospital release, and punch Dean right now. He even drew back his fist.

But then he stopped, let his arms dangle by his side.

Dean wanted to ask if this meant that he wasn't going to get his ass kicked right now.

He dragged himself into a better sitting position, gasping as fiery agony erupted from his shoulder, damn near making himself puke.

The sound didn't go uninterrupted by Caleb, who despite his hurt and anger, bent slightly over Dean. "Deuce, you okay?"

"Yeah, fine," he managed to gasp out. He even managed to reach out and grasp Caleb's forearm. "You love me like a brother… right Damien?"

Caleb frowned, not liking where this was heading. "You _are _my brother, Deuce. You damn well know that."

Dean stared up at him, his jade eyes scary in their intensity from their bed of darkened hollowed sockets. "Well… think about it. What if it had been me that had gotten stabbed at Cold Creek? Can you honestly tell me that you wouldn't have done the same thing?"

* * *

Opening his mouth, Caleb found he could not argue with him. In his mind, he pictured himself holding a cold and lifeless Dean… and it made him physically ill. His stomach actually started to roil.

To Dean's utter horror, there was a glimmer of tears in Caleb's amber eyes, shimmering in the florescent overhead lighting.

He sat back down, swiping roughly down his face. "Shit," Caleb murmed. "Fuck."

Then he sat, and placed his head in his hands and remained that way for the longest time.

Dean was starting to get worried when Caleb finally raised his head.

His eyes were bloodshot, hollow… and full of incredible sadness.

He closed them briefly for a moment and when he spoke, his voice was heavy.

"You're right," Caleb's shoulders slumped. "If it had been you, I would've done it in a instant. Hell, I would've done it for Sammy, too. 'Cause I love him like a little brother, too… but you… _you _we've always had a special bond. When I met you, you were a traumatized, mute little five-year-old. And I was a confused, slightly stuck-up teenager. I baby-sat you, when John had to take Sammy to the doctor and shit like that. And found we had so much in common. You _became _my brother."

"Then Jim and Johnny both died, and I became the Knight… it was my job to protect you. And I failed you guys… miserably."

Shakily, Dean reached over and grabbed on of Caleb's hands.

Sighing softly, Dean said "You didn't fail me Damien… If there's been _one _person who always had my back, it was you."

"But I-"

Dean shook his his head. "Cold Oak was a clusterfuck of epic proportions… _but _it was a clusterfuck that was all planned out by ole' Yellow Eyes."

Caleb swallowed hard. "Well, I should've- should've _known._ That Oliver and his family getting killed was just a red herring. I should've been with _you_."

"No," Dean's voice was curiously gentle. "You were where you needed to be. Moose was your friend."

Shaking furiously, as if afflected by a sudden and violnt palsy, Caleb erupted. "Yes, he _was _my friend. But he was already dead! There was nothing I could for him-"

Dean gave him the barest of smiles. "No. There was nothing you could do for Moose. But you could try to find his killer… which you were doing."

"And gave you a death sentence!"

"No. _I _choose my own fate. Nobody put a gun to my head."

"I should've been there with you. I could've stopped you from-" Caleb cut himself off as Dean shot him a angry look.

"What, stopped me from saving Sammy? Dude, even if you _were _there, it would've turned out the same way. I watch out for him. He's my younger brother."

That was the crux of the matter. It didn't matter if Caleb had been there or not. Dean would have done the exact same thing.

Caleb sat back down and defiantly crossed his arms.

"Yeah? Well, let me repeat some wise words said to me by a smart little kid a long time ago. I draw dragons, bring pizza and I watch out for Dean," Caleb swallowed hard. "For the last twenty fucking years, you've been _my _little brother. And I'm going to fix this."

Dean closed his eyes tightly. "I already told you Damien. I try to welsh on the deal, and Sam's back to being dead."

Caleb waved a hand. "Then we find a different way. Maybe Esme would-"

Cracking a small grin, Dean said. "Esme? As in your Dad's girlfriend Esme? Joshua Sawyer's mother?"

Growling, Caleb replied. "Yes. _That _Esme. She is a witch, you know, and belongs to a powerful coven. Maybe they, or one of the others could come up with a spell or potion."

Honestly, Dean hadn't considered that avenue of attack. Witchcraft Vs. Demons.

But he really wasn't about to stake his younger brother's life on anything that wasn't a sure bet.

Caleb saw and correctly read the hesitation on his face. "C'mon Deuce, this could work. Whatever I have against Josh, I do respect his gifts, and his mothers," he paused, hesitating. "You _do _trust _me, _right?"

Dean gave him a dark look. "What kind of stupid question is that Damien? I've trusted you with my _life _since I was five-years-old."

Caleb felt his eyes start to burn once more at Dean plainly put, heartfelt statement. He swiped at the watering objects, which had flowed over onto his cheeks.

"Damn allergies," he muttered, rubbing at them harder. "Or I think maybe a bug flew into one of em'."

Dean gave a faint smile, but faded just as quickly as agony ripped through his heart.

He could count on one the number of times he'd seen Caleb cry.

He watched as Caleb's teeth clenched tightly together, and he inhaled deeply.

Finally he spoke. "Does that mean you're not going to try? That you're just going to give up?"

"No." came a voice from the hallway.

Sam was standing there, silhouetted by the extra-bright florescent lighting, holding yet another coffee cup in his hand.

"No," Sam repeated, stepping into the hospital room. "He's not giving up. I won't let him."

Dean sighed, having a feeling that another hour or two had just been added to the conversation.

So he sank down more heavily in the hospital bed, and prepared himself for round two.

* * *


	5. Chapter 5

__

A/N: _I'm sorry that I haven't updated in awhile. There's been my dad and the chemo… and then we were struck with another horrible blow. _

There was a death in the family… My brother-in-law, Andy was killed in a car accident, so this chapter is dedicated to **Andrew Lowell Brierley** (September 7th, 1982-April 23rd, 2008) A loving son, brother, uncle, husband, and father, a extraordinary friend and one of the sweetest, most selfless men I have ever known. We all love you Andy, and miss you terribly.

You will never be forgotten.

* * *

"Sam." Dean growled. Or tried to anyway. Both his head and his injured shoulder were throbbing sickeningly.

"Think about it Dean. This is a avenue we haven't explored."

"Yeah," Dean yelled. "'Cause I don't want the _exploration _with you six feet under!"

God, was there something in the hospital's water or air?

Because as Sam stared solemnly at Dean, _his _eyes began to tear up.

Tears, and he added the dreaded puppy-dog face that Dean always dreaded.

"Sammy-Sammy, it's not like I _wanna _die. I _sure _as hell don't want leave you guys." his jade-green eyes, full of sorrow, skipped over both Sam and Caleb.

"But you know as well as I do," he looked down and fiddled with his sheets, unable to maintain eye-contact any longer. "I can't-can't make it without you."

Sam gaped at him incredulously. "So… basically you're just being selfish?"

"Yep." Dean replied readily.

Sam looked disbelieving, but Caleb not so much.

He knew that Dean's entire life had been about sacrifice- for his family, the hunt, the Brotherhood.

The kid had given everything for everyone else and had never asked for anything in return.

Obviously, this was Dean's first ever semi-selfish act for himself.

Something after years of pain, loss, and sacrifice.

Caleb met Dean's gaze, and Dean realized that Caleb understood that much.

But although he may have understood it, didn't mean he liked it.

Sam walked over besides Dean's bed, and knelt by his bed.

Dean's heart clenched as a single solitary tear rolled down Sam's cheek.

He gave a sigh, as he glanced from Sam's broken expression, to Caleb's.

He threw his head back into his cheap, hospital pillow, closing his eyes and silently began to debate with himself.

But he must have been silent for too long, because two panicky voices interrupted his thoughts.

"Dean!"

"Deuce, wake the hell up!"

Dean opened his eyes, and cocked an eyebrow. "I _was _awake. I was just thinking things over."

"Well, next time, think things over with your freakin' eyes _open_," Caleb growled. "Instead of flopping back like big rag doll with your eyes closed and giving the Runt and me a heart attack."

Wincing, Dean said. "Dude, two words for you. Volume control," he paused. "And what I was thinking over was your and Sammy's 'brilliant idea'."

Both Sam and Caleb did a double-take.

Their expressions were so comical that if the situation wasn't so damn serious, Dean would've laughed.

Still, he had to fight back the wild, insane urge to giggle anyway.

Thankfully he held it back, If he hadn't, both Caleb and Sam probably would've yelled at him for trivializing his life.

"Really?" Both Sam and Caleb's expressions had brightened so much the transformation was startling.

"Yes… but I'm not making any promises," Dean said, eying them both. "If it's not anything less than a sure thing… then it's not gonna happen. Understand?"

Sam's mouth twisted into a unhappy-looking frown, and Caleb didn't look too happy about it either.

An abrupt about-face from a few seconds ago.

"But Dean-" Sam started to speak.

Dean held up his uninjured arm to halt any further speech. "No, Sammy. If there's even the slightest chance you could… die… then no dice."

Sam continued to glare at Dean for another few minutes, before he finally gave in and sighed.

"I guess I can't complain. This is the most concern you've shown for yourself yet."

Dean rolled his eyes before setting a hard gaze a Sam. "Just remember… if there's the slightest chance that this won't work, we're not doing it."

"But-"

"No buts Sam. Either it's certain thing or nothing at all. Got it?"

Caleb rolled his eyes. "Deuce, there few things in life are certain. Life, demons, various dark creatures, death and taxes. That's it."

"You're a funny man Damien. I'm dying of laughter on the inside,"

Almost belatedly, he realized that probably that wasn't the best thing to say.

Judging by the looks on both Caleb and Sam's faces, they didn't find it amusing.

"Not real funny Deuce."

Dean was about to reply when Mac appeared with a beautiful familiar auburn-haired figure in a white coat and bearing a medical chart. Dr. Elizabeth McCroy

"Dean," Dr. McCroy flashed him a small smile. "It's nice to see you awake… and coherent."

He didn't have the time to respond before she assaulted his sensitive eyes with a pen light.

Wincing from the pain that throbbed through his head, Dean shot a confused look at the room at large. "Coherent?"

Taking out a automatic thermometer, the kind that went in your ear. She wasted no time in sticking in Dean's right ear.

Then she replied, almost absentmindedly. "You woke up a few time previously, but you were delirious because the fever was so high. You weren't making any sense at all."

The thermometer beeped three seconds later.

Dr. McCroy took it out, glanced at the readout. She made a sound in her throat, then scribbled something on the chart.

"What?" asked three sets of voices together.

* * *

At the chorus of voices, Elizabeth looked up from Dean Winchester's chart, to the cluster of eager, familiar faces before her.

Whom she had treated before. In fact, with the exception the the youngest, Sam, she'd treated all of them for various injuries and illnesses over the years.

So she knew them well, especially Dean and Caleb who were in here so frequently she often thought of the instillation of special beds for them.

Elizabeth gave a small smile that was a half-smirk.

"I'm sorry… can't tell you. I'd be violating the HIPAA laws." she replied with a straight face, and paused, waiting for the explosion she knew that would come.

Sure enough, Caleb Reaves growled. "Just tell us, Doc! How is he?"

Elizabeth raised a eyebrow at the loud tone of voice, and immediately Caleb shut his mouth.

He knew her well enough not to screw with her.

It's _never _a good idea to fuck with a person who might very well be setting a broken bone for you the next time you see her.

She replied mildly. "His fever's gone down… it's still not completely normal… 102.3. Still high, but much better than 105.3"

* * *

"So Doc…how have you been?" Dean asked, not liking where this was heading.

She looked at Dean and smiled.

Dean felt his insides shrivel up.

The way Elizabeth McCroy was smiling made him think of praying mantises. All happy and cheerful while mating. Then the female went in for the kill and bit his freakin' head off.

Dean had never actually ran across any of the insects before, but he imagined that the female would be wearing an expression just like Dr. McCroy's.

He tried another stab at conversation in a vain attempt to move the topic _away _from him.

"So you're the hospital administrator now, huh?"

Her smirk grew wider. She knew what he was trying to do. "Yes, Dean, I am. Now about your-"

He stuck out his good arm. "Well, congratulations!"

Dr. McCroy raised an eyebrow, and rather gingerly took his hand and shook carefully.

"Now if you'll shut up for a minute, and quit trying to distract me."

Dean raised an eyebrow.

She flipped back a page on the chart, but she didn't even appear to need it as she began to spout off Dean's injuries.

"The bullet caused both proximal humerus and clavicle fractures. It looks like your shoulder's took a hit before?"

"A couple." Dean admitted. Like his possessed brother shooting him, being thrown into countless walls, and being branded with a poker by an inbred, crazy hick family in Minnesota.

"Well, the previous injuries had stressed the bones… weakened them. Ordinarily the humerus wouldn't have broken, as it was just nicked. But because the of those previous injuries, the nick caused the bone to fracture. But luckily it was a clean break, as as was clavicle."

Dean frowned. "Then why am I still in here?"

The room fell silent, and every head in the room swiveled to look at Dean incredulously.

"What?" Dean asked defensively.

"Why.Are.You.Still.In. _Here_!" Caleb bit off each word viciously, his amber eyes burning with incredible fury.

Elizabeth raised an eyebrow, looking not at all intimidated by all of rage circulating in the room. She had, after all, been their physician for a long time, she was used to it.

And not to mention Dr. McCroy took no bullshit herself.

Right now, she simply gave them all a saccharine smile, and said, in a mock-innocent voice. "I need to be going now… finish the rest of my rounds. You four have fun now."

With a sarcastic power salute, she said to Dean. "Now you behave yourself while I'm gone. No trying to get out of bed."

Then, she was gone, leaving behind her patient and three angry visitors.

* * *


	6. Chapter 6

__

__

**A/N 1:**

Thank you to everyone who expressed their condolences on the death of my brother-in-law. Things have been rocky, as we have all been grieving, and my eight-year-old niece, **Sierra**, who idolized her Uncle Andy, has been absolutely devastated.

__

But on a happier note, the nice doctors at the Huntsman Cancer Center believe that my father might be doing better. He has another appointment in a few weeks, for a bone marrow biopsy and another round of chemo, but they think they can hopefully keep it in check.

And a special thank you to **Tidia**, the second part of the Brotherhood AU dream team, for the wonderful private message. Even though she is suffering through her own loss, she took the time to console me.

So a major thank you to you **Tidia**. And I hope you and your family are doing better.

But again, thank you, everyone, for the kind words. And thank you for the reviews in general. You guys keep me going, even when I don't feel like it.

* * *

**A/N 2: **I referenced a few more of Ridley's fics, one '**Paper Tiger' **I kind of twisted a few small details at the end. I said that the boys were in Dr. McCroy's hospital at the end, but in Rid's fic, they aren't. So nothing major changed… just a small detail there.

The other fic I borrowed was 'Like Forever Had Gone By' Which wasn't part of the Brotherhood AU series, but an awesome fic all the same**.**

* * *

Mac touched Caleb's arm, and his son subsided a little. He sat down, still fuming, but silent for the moment as he glared alternately between Dean and his feet.

"Let me take this." he told Caleb.

Now Mac turned to Dean, his gaze serious and intent. "Why you're still here Dean, is because you were admitted unconscious, with a 105 degree fever… I don't have to tell you that a fever of that magnitude is dangerously high."

"Yeah… but it's not that high anymore." Dean pointed out helpfully.

Mac closed his eyes, appearing to holding on to his patience with both hands.

He prided himself on having extraordinary patience, it having been perfected from not only years of being The Scholar of The Triad, but Caleb's father as well.

When he had first adopted his son, the beginning of their relationship had been rocky.

Caleb had been certain that Mac would die, like most of the people in his life had, or simply get rid of him once Mac found out he was a 'freak'… which was how he felt about his psychic abilities back then, as he really didn't fully understand them.

But of course, Mac had his own psychic abilities as well, something that he had brought back with him when he emerged from his three-month long coma after the car accident.

So despite the initial rough start, things went smoothly after that.

He continued to glare at at Dean, but Dean, damn him, was immune to it, having been raised by John Winchester.

When it came to discipline and glares, John Winchester had been a absolute master… and Dean his dutiful whipping boy.

So finally, Mac sighed and sank back in his chair. "Damnit. I can never get you to cave."

Dean shrugged. "That's what happens when you were raised with a drill master as a father," he gazed at both Caleb and Mac. "Right?"

Both men squirmed uncomfortably. They had known how John had treated Dean… like his own personal toy soldier to fight in a war that he never should have been in.

A pawn, if you will.

But although both Mac and Caleb voiced their opinions, neither of them had actually taken any physical steps to help, to _stop _it.

_Who knows,_ Caleb thought, his shoulder slumping as a dark idea planted itself in his head, took root, and grew_._

_Maybe if we actually had done something, Dean wouldn't be going to hell right now._

Dean however, hadn't meant for his words to wound; had merely been trying to lighten the mood. As he watched, Mac and Caleb squirmed restlessly in their seats, and Caleb's face darkened.

"What's wrong Damien?"

Dean, Caleb thought darkly, damn him. Not only was he immune to Mac's famous acid stare, he was also amazingly perceptive to the ripples and changes of the emotions of the people around him.

Sighing, Caleb asked. "How do you do that? _I'm _supposed to be the psychic," he paused, then glanced at his father and Sam, and added. "Or rather _we're _supposed to be psychic."

Dean merely shrugged. "Dunno. But stop answering my questions with questions, Damien. I hate it when you do that."

Sighing, Caleb shook his head. "Nothing's wrong Deuce. Everything's just fuckin' peachy."

Holding up his good hand defensively, Dean's lips twisted up in a half-grin. "Whoa, Damien… there's no need to get all angry and emo on me. Do I need to run out to your truck and get your Enya CD… calm ya down?"

Finally, the mood lightened as Sam began to laugh, Mac looked amused, but slightly puzzled as to what was so amusing.

Caleb pointed a finger at Dean, and shook it. "I told you man, it was _Mac's_! How many times do I gotta tell you?"

"You can tell me as many times as you want… it's just that I won't believe you," Dean replied. He looked at Mac. "Was it yours?"

Mac raised his eyebrows. "What was the artist's name?"

"Enya. She does Celtic chanting and shit like that."

Mac frowned in puzzlement, but his eyes were twinkling with merriment. "I don't recall ever owning a CD by that particular artist."

Caleb looked indignant, and laughter filled the room as he tried to defend him against the Enya accusations.

But again, the humor didn't last as everyone's thoughts went automatically back to Dean's situation.

Dean sighed as he felt the emotions around him drop again.

"Guys… c'mon … don't _all _of you go emo on me," he paused. "Only one of you are allowed do that at a time."

Caleb swallowed audibly. "How can you _even _ask us not to be depressed about this? Sammy's going to lose a brother… the last member of his family."

Dean scowled, his forehead wrinkling, "Dirty pool, Damien." he said, carefully avoiding Sam's wounded eyes.

Undetermined, Caleb continued ruthlessly, hoping to get through to his friend. "Mac will be loosing someone he considers a beloved nephew… and I-I," Caleb paused once again and hastily swiped at his reddened eyes. "And I'm gonna loose _my_ little brother."

"Maybe," Dean paused. "Maybe not. Have you two geniuses told Mac about your 'brilliant' plan?"

Raising his eyebrows, Mac looked at his son, whose face, he thought, wore the faintest trace blush.

So did Sam Winchester's, only _his _face was a deeper shade of red.

Caleb swallowed hard. "Uh… consider it a request-a _request _from the Knight and the future Scholar," he gave his father his father his own version of Sam's puppy-dog look.

"To save the life of the future Guardian?"

"Hey," Dean protested. "_I_ had nothing to do with this. It's all your idea. I just sat back and listened to your rambling.

He propped himself up higher, to further involve himself in the conversation, and felt fire explode in his wounded shoulder. He pressed his mouth tightly together, gritting his teeth tightly.

Mac noticed, obviously, as his face registered concern and he stood. _Duh, _his brain whispered. _The man **is **a doctor._

"Are you all right Dean?" Mac asked, standing over him.

Dean gave him a tight nod. "Yeah, I just wasn't thinking and moved my shoulder. Just…"

Raising his eyebrows, Mac asked dryly. "Hurt like hell?"

"It hurts a little, yeah."

"Well, let me give a little hint. There's a pump sitting next to you on the bed… that neat little gizmo with the button? Well, you see, all you need to do is press that little button. And it gives you a dose of morphine, which you are probably way overdue for."

Dean scowled up at Mac. "You know I hate morphine."

Smiling serenely, Mac replied. "Too bad."

"Yeah…well I'll take it after we're done talking." Dean replied. _Maybe._

Mac sat back down, slowly surveying his son and Sam Winchester. "Yes. What _is _this brilliant idea the two of you cooked up?"

Both Sam and Caleb looked at each other, and simultaneously said "You tell him."

The younger Winchester shook his head. "Nope. It was _your _idea, Caleb. I just went along for the ride."

"Um… uh…" Caleb couldn't bring himself to say it. Every time that he even _thought _about Esme Madrigal, a memory of Dean whispering to him…

__

So… Mac and Esme. I bet you twenty they've done it on the kitchen table.

Then when Caleb had literally felt sick to his stomach and said that he was eating at the kitchen island. Dean had snorted a laugh. _Like that's off-limits?_

Recalling that conversation now _still _made Caleb's stomach lurch, and felt his face slowly warm.

Dean grinned evilly, seeing his friend's obvious discomfort, and knowing why. "Why, your lovely sweet thang Esme, of course."

Caleb groaned, watching as small thunderclouds formed on his father's face.

Deuce, damn him, managed to keep a straight face while Mac could see him.

But as soon as he turned to talk to Caleb, Dean began to make rather crude gestures with his hands, that had him sinking his teeth down hard on his lower lip.

Of course, his father noticed the expression, and asked his son mildly. "Is there anything you'd like to share with me Caleb? Something that has put that god-awful expression on your face?"

Swallowing hard, Caleb shook his head. "Nope… just an idea I-uh-uh just came up with up."

Mac nodded. "Well, by all means, go ahead."

Caleb bit viscously down on his tongue, and then, hoping to God he wouldn't start laughing, started talking.

"Esme." he said simply.

Cocking an eyebrow, Mac started to reply, but was cut off by sudden giggle from Dean. Not laughter, but an actual childlike giggle that made Caleb want to smile as it conjured up images of a seven-year-old Dean, and the few times the kid would actually let get to let loose and actually _act _like a little boy.

"Jeez, I love it when you do that Mac… you look just Magnum… well, a aging salt-and-pepper-haired one. We should buy you a Hawaiian shirt." Dean nodded, with a loopy smile

Both Sam and Caleb looked at Dean, mouths agape. Yes, the Magnum thing was a running joke between Dean and Mac.

But Dean, if he valued if his life, would have never have referred to Mac as an _aging_ salt-and-peppered Magnum.

"Uh…" was all Sam managed.

"I think the fever must have damaged his brain." Caleb whispered.

Mac snorted lightly with laughter. "No. It's because I hit his morphine pump when I was over there. He just high as a kite."

Caleb started to laugh, and Sam bit down hard on his lip to keep a grin from spreading across his face. "Okay. Now that we know that he's not brain damaged, just doped to the gills, should we continue… Caleb?" Sam asked pointedly.

"Uh… yeah. Okay. Where was I?"

"All you said was Esme," Mac looked at his son, dark eyes locked on Caleb's face. "Now what does this have to do with her?"

"Her witchcraft… now I know her gifts aren't terribly strong. But maybe someone else in her coven can help us."

Mac sighed. "Caleb…"

"Don't 'Caleb' me Dad… this is Deuce we're talking about! I'm-"

"Damien," came a voice from the bed. Dean may have been doped to the gills, but he could still pick a few details of the conversation. "Chill down, man. If Mac doesn't want to-"

"Shut up Deuce and go to sleep."

Caleb turned back to his father. "I'll look under every stone… and if that means that-"

"I'll ask her, Caleb," Mac interrupted. "You know she'll want to try and help. She adored Samuel and Dean from the moment she met them."

Looking relieved, Caleb shot his father a faint smile. "Thank you."

All of them were silent for a moment, as they all gazed down at Dean, whose eyelids were fluttering helplessly.

"Just don't get your hopes _too _high," Mac cautioned. "I know Esme knows some powerful witches… but that doesn't necessarily mean that-"

His son nodded. "Yeah, I know. But it's the best shot we have."

__

Maybe the only shot we have…

Caleb thought.

But he kept it to himself.

* * *

Mac excused himself to go outside to call Esme, as the sooner they could see her, the better. Sam and Caleb meanwhile, stayed behind with Dean, who despite having enough morphine in his system to mellow out a Siberian tiger, was fighting the drug's effects.

His eyelids were fluttering in a desperate attempt to stay conscious.

Caleb gave a wry grin, as he settled himself at the foot of Dean's bed, careful to avoid jarring him. "Give it up, Deuce. Just go to sleep."

His best friend's eyelids drifted shut, then with obvious effort, opened to half-mast, showing a small slit of jade-green eyes, hazy and clouded with a combination of drugs and the remainder of his fever.

"You… guys gonna… stay?" Dean managed to say through a tongue that felt thick and stupid.

A small half-smile curled up Caleb's mouth. "You bet. We'll all still be here when you wake up, won't we, Sammy?"

Sam nodded, and squeezed his brother's hand tightly. "You bet Dean. Wild horses couldn't drag us away."

"Okay." Dean replied drowsily.

And with that reassurance, he immediately drifted off to sleep.

Caleb and Sam exchanged a warm glance, and sat down in the chairs to wait. They were highly uncomfortable, but it didn't matter.

They would wait, no matter how long it took for Dean to get well.

It hadn't been long before Mac slipped quietly back into the room.

Both of them looked up eagerly.

Mac gave them a tired smile. "Esme will be expecting you, Caleb, and Dean as soon as he discharged."

Sam froze. Just Caleb and Dean? What about him?

Mac must've noticed the stormy expression on Sam's face, and said hastily. "I need you to help me back at Jim's. To go through the books, papers, and journals. In case this this doesn't work."

His eyes narrowed, Sam asked. "Can't you have someone from your Geek Squad do that? Alison or Carolyn?"

"No, as they don't know about your brother's deal… and I prefer to keep it that way. I love Carolyn like a daughter, but remember she dated Ian Hastings," he locked eyes with the youngest Winchester. "That's why I need _you _Sam. The future Scholar."

Sam shot a glance at his brother sleeping on the bed, looked back at Mac, then let his eyes drift back to Dean.

It felt so stupid, but ever since Dean had came for him at Palo Alto, three years ago, god it hard to imagine, they had always been there for each

other. Excluding a few rare times, they had alwaysbeen _together_ since then.

Living in each other's pocket, so to speak.

But separation, while painful, would be worth it if he found a way to save Dean.

Or otherwise, he'd be facing a separation that would be permanent.

Sam swallowed hard. He looked at the sleeping figure of his brother. Funny, he thought, up this close he could see the faint dotting of freckles on Dean's nose. He had forgotten Dean even had freckles. He looked so young, and with a start, Sam realized that he was, after all, only twenty-eight.

With the life they led, it was easy to forget. But if they failed to find something to break the deal, Dean wouldn't live to see twenty-nine.

Finally he spoke, not looking up. "Okay… I'll do it."

Mac smiled, and placed a hand on Sam's shoulder. "All right. I won't ask you to leave. We'll wait until Dean's discharged… Dr. McCroy thinks it may be tomorrow or the day after. Then we'll head back to Minnesota, to Jim's… Bobby's already there and looking."

"And me and Deuce?" Caleb asked, sitting down again in the highly uncomfortable plastic chair.

"You two will go to Esme's house in Charlotte, North Carolina. Then she'll introduce you to the rest of the coven."

Caleb nodded, and crossed his legs, trying to get as comfortable as he possibly could in the chair. "Well then… I suggest everyone try and take a nap, 'cause tomorrow will be here soon."

"We don't know if Dean will be ready to go tomorrow, Caleb." Mac cautioned.

His son gave a irreverent snort. "C'mon Dad, this is _Deuce _we're talking 'bout. Of course he'll be ready. Whether he really is or not."

* * *

(Sighs) Horrible, I know. But you guys get it anyway. 


	7. Chapter 7

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A/N 1-

_Thank you, everyone for the kind reviews. Like I said, you guys keep me writing, even when I don't feel like doing anything. (smiles) And if you guys like this fic, I'm in the works on a sequel. So it's up to you, my loyal reviewers… yes or no?_****

A/N 2-

Also, in**_'All Hell Breaks Loose'_ **Lily's last name was never given, so I just made one up for her.

And thanks to RiverCity1, who kindly pointed out to me that Pastor Jim lived in New Haven, Kentucky, not Minnesota. So Elizabeth worked in Louisville. I decided to let it go for this story, as it's nearly finished… but I was able to correct the sequel. So thanks again, RiverCity1.

* * *

Dean woke slowly the next morning, his head not only groggy and confused, but aching badly with a familiar bite.

Morphine hangover.

He opened his eyes slowly and let his surroundings seep in. Stark, white walls. Uncomfortable bed. Antiseptic smell.

Yeah, he was in a hospital.

He had slept badly last night, nightmares about Monument interrupting his sleep. In it when Hendrickson was possessed, and he had handcuffed Dean to the cell bars. Then while Dean helplessly watched, the FBI agent snapped Sam's neck.

Because of the disturbed, broken rest, he had thrashed around restlessly and re-opening his injured shoulder on the metal bedrails.

Mac had awoken to Dean's muted cries of distress, and ordered a dose of morphine much larger dose of morphine than the dose in his I.V. pump.

He looked slowly over at the plastic chairs that sat beside his bed, hating the druggy feeling in his veins that made him feel as though he were moving through Jell-O.

A small smile touched his face. All three of his visitors were sound asleep in what looked in an uncomfortable position. Caleb was asleep with one leg propped up on Dean's bed and both Sam and Mac were sleeping upright, with their near necks kinked uncomfortably.

Dean began to chuckle softly.

His laughter woke up Caleb, who stretched awkwardly, wincing, his back popping.

He smiled. "Hey dude. You feeling better?"

"Yep… 99 percent," Dean paused. "When are we going to North Carolina?"

"Today… both Mac and Elizabeth think you can be discharged today…. But you gotta wear a cast and a sling."

Dean frowned. "Don't wanna wear a sling."

Caleb sent him a frown of his own. "You have proximal humerus and clavicle fractures . You're wearing the damn sling. It'll speed up your recovery."

"But I _hate _the slings."

Caleb gave a small smirk. "Really don't care."

By this time, their conversation had woken up both Sam and Mac.

"Ow," Sam groaned, stretching. "My neck is killing me."

Mac, who had came aware, gave Sam a faint smile. "A hot shower will cure all your ills. And if that doesn't work, there's always a massage."

"Don't have time for a massage." Sam grumbled, rubbing his sore neck.

"Ah, quit whining Sammy." Dean said

"Oh, shut up," Sam replied, a touch of laughter in his voice. "Dr. McCroy should be here in a minute. As Caleb said, she's going to discharge you-"

"Yes!" Dean crowed.

Sam frowned down at his brother. "But also like Caleb said, if you wear the sling. Also if you take the pain meds and antibiotics she sends with you. And don't do anything to stress the injuries."

Dean opened his mouth to protest, but was overridden by Caleb.

"I'll make sure he takes he 'em," the psychic said. "Even if I have to hold him down _shove_ him down his throat."

There was a brief moment of silence, and then Dean laughed. "Oooh, Damien. I love it when you get so forceful. Makes me tingly inside."

"Shut up Deuce."

Their banter was interrupted by Elizabeth McCroy breezing inside, her white coat flapping around a _very _shapely figure, Dean happen to notice. She held a clipboard in her slender hands, and appeared to be studying it intently.

"Well, Dean… against my better judgment, Dr. Ames has convinced to discharge you today. He insists that you'll actually follow my after-care instructions this time?"

Dean squirmed, somehow her glare was different than from when his father had done it.

Sam looked between his brother and Dr. McCroy. "What happened last time?"

"He-"

"Nothing he needs to know." Dean spoke over her, smiling charmingly.

Dr. McCroy ignored him, and looked over at Sam. "He had gotten himself stabbed in the side. Pretty deep, and by the time he got here, was infected." The last of the sentence was directed at Caleb.

"Hey," Caleb held up his hands. "Don't glare at me. He was on a hunt by himself, the idiot. It was just a miracle I just happened to show up."

Sam knew it wasn't a miracle, but probably a vision that had led Caleb to his brother.

"But anyway, after we cleaned it out, put a drain in it to siphon out to infection, and when that cleared up, stitched it up, I sent him home."

Sam's brow wrinkled. _Home? _She must've meant Pastor Jim's. God knew the closest things the Winchester boys had ever had to home was Dean's shiny black 67' Impala.

"With medication very similar to this," Dr. McCroy said, shaking prescriptions papers for emphasis. "But your brother skipped doses of the antibiotic and didn't take the painkillers at all. And pain retards the healing process."

Sam stopped glaring at Caleb, and instead turned it on Dean. "Don't worry," he said to Dr. McCroy. "We'll make sure he takes them. Won't we Caleb?"

"Yes sir, General Winchester, sir."

Dr. McCroy smiled. "Well, Dean. If we can just get you into a wheelchair, we'll go down and cast your arm and shoulder and set you up with a sling. Then you can go," she looked over at the three men. "Can you get him into the wheelchair?"

Caleb automatically got to his feet; quickly followed by Sam.

They eyed Dean cautiously. "How are we gonna do this without hurting you?"

Without hesitation, Dr. McCroy reached over at gave Dean a blast from the morphine pump.

"Hey."

"It'll be easier to move you if you're not in agony, Dean." the doctor replied, rolling her eyes in exasperation.

It didn't take long for the morphine to take hold. In fact it was merely fifteen minutes, and Dean was officially stoned.

"Okay boyos," Dean said, his head swimming in a morphine haze, speaking slowly drugs, dragging at speech. "Haul me up."

Reluctantly, worried they'd hurt him more, Sam griped his brother's shoulder gently, but firmly, while Caleb gingerly slung a arm around his abdomen.

Together, they carefully eased Dean up. And although they were going as easy as they possibly could, the movement still sent a jolt of agony through his shoulder, making an involuntary gasp escape him.

"Deuce? You doing okay?"

"Yeah," he replied somewhat breathlessly, "Just get me in the damn chair."

Caleb grinned, if rather tightly. He was amused at Dean's attitude, but hated to hear the pain in his voice.

And the fact that his best friend felt fragile, completely breakable… as if he would shatter if they moved the wrong way.

They were halfway to the wheelchair when Dean let out a muffled cry of pain. It was so low, it was barely audible, but Caleb, who had spent his entire adult life hunting dangerous creatures, and therefore having honed his hearing to razor sharp awareness, heard him.

He looked over. Deuce was pale as milk, his freckles standing out in stark relief. Sweat beaded his forehead in clear drops, and dampened his blond hair. He could feel the rapid beating of his heart.

Dean, of course, caught him looking, and murmured breathlessly. "I'm alright Damien. Don't worry."

"Alright… yeah, sure you are." They had reached the wheelchair, and with the utmost care, eased Dean into it.

"God, that sucked out loud." Dean murmured, as he used a trembling hand to wipe the sweat off of his forehead.

Sam and Caleb hovered nearby anxiously. "You okay, man?" Sam asked.

Incredibly, Dean managed a weak grin. "Yeah, I'm fine Sammy," he said, giving a small chuckle.

Elizabeth was watching the exchange with a mixture of warmth and amusement. "Okay, Dean. Let's get going. The sooner we can get this done, sooner you can get home. You'll probably rest better there," she paused, then cast a critical eye at him. "And yes, I do mean _rest. _Not just lay down for an hour, then take off in the Impala."

Sam visibly started. How did she…

Elizabeth noticed Sam's reaction, and smiled. "You may not have remembered Sam, but I've been taking care of your brother and Caleb since your brother was ten-years-old so I know everything, don't worry," her smile grew slightly. "You were even in my hospital once."

Sam nodded. "Yeah, I remember. When Dean and Caleb wrecked Pastor Jim's truck."

"No Sam. I meant you were a patient here."

Sam was looking puzzled… yet was there the barest flicker of remembrance on his face?

"Why did you have to bring that up," Dean asked Elizabeth, annoyance threaded through his hoarse voice. "He was too young… he shouldn't _have _to remember."

Swallowing audibly, Sam said quietly. "Griffin."

Dean closed his eyes, sighing. "Yeah, Sammy. But-"

"_You _were the one that almost died," Sam said, his dark brows knitting together. "All I had was a mild case of hypothermia. I remember, now. You had pneumonia, a severe case of it, and a bad case of hypothermia. Caleb was hurt, too."

Dean brushed it off. "Well, I survived, dude. Elizabeth was just saying that she's knew us forever… and therefore, knows what we do. Pastor Jim told her, as she's patched us up before at the house without reporting us. So Liz here is a member of the Brotherhood," Dean grinned weakly at Dr. McCroy. "She doesn't hunt, of course… just fixes up injured hunters and she _does _have a ring."

Startled, Sam glanced at Dr. McCroy's right hand. A silver band gleamed there.

She caught him looking, and smiled. "Well, enough chatting. Let's get Dean's cast on so he can get out of here."

Gesturing carefully with his good arm, Dean said. "Ready when you are."

* * *

An hour later Dean found himself laying back on a rather surprisingly comfortable examining table, looking down at his left arm.

A fiberglass cast was secured around his broken humerus, running from his elbow to the bottom of his shoulder.

Normally, Elizabeth said, for the clavicle fracture, he would've been in a full upper-body cast. But because of the gunshot wound, it wasn't possible.

So instead she cleaned it out a final time, dressed the wound, and then wrapped it securely with a type of wrap Dean had never seen before. It was tough and durable, so it held the clavicle fracture firm, almost like a cast, but it was also removable so that the dressings could be changed.

"So does it pass?"

Dean looked up into Elizabeth's smiling face.

He managed a smile that he imagined probably looked a lot more like a grimace.

Even with the morphine she had given him before they had left, the act of having to move it arm into the correct position for her to cast it had been a session of sheer torture.

"Yep. Looks great." he managed to say to tightly gritted teeth. At this rate, all that was going to be left of them was calcium dust.

* * *

But Elizabeth McCroy was not a stupid doctor. She hadn't gotten to hospital administrator just by being beautiful.

She had gotten there by being an extremely sharp doctor, and having a having very high success rate.

And she had known Dean Winchester for a very long time.

So even though he had one hell of a poker face, even when he was suffering, she knew when he was hurting.

"How you feeling Dean?" she asked, reaching into her white lab coat pocket for a pre-loaded

syringe of morphine.

"Fine."

Yes, answering her in one syllable words. He was definitely in severe pain.

"Sure you are." she replied, and swiftly, before he could even object, squirted a little of the medication into the air to get rid of any bubbles and injected the contents into Dean's good arm.

He glared at her. "Hey! What was that about?"

She raised an eyebrow in question. "Do you have selective hearing?"

"What? No."

"Then you must be intermittently deaf, because I explained to you back in your room that pain sets back the healing process. And you can try to bullshit me all you want, but I'm not a stupid doctor. I _can _tell when a patient is hurting."

The dose of morphine had been large, and Dean's eyelids were already starting to droop. "Well… you could've warned me at least."

She smirked. "And gave you time to bitch and complain. I don't think so," she motioned for two orderlies, one male, one female that had been standing by the door waiting for her instructions. "Jason, Alexis… can you help Dean get back into his wheelchair?"

Dean scowled. "My legs aren't broken, you know."

Elizabeth smiled serenely. "Try to stand up." She stood close by, and silently motioned for Jason Quinn to stand close also.

* * *

__

This ought to be interesting…

With an effort, Dean tried to push himself to his feet.

* * *

But he'd underestimated the energy it took, and with the drugs coursing through his veins, every limb felt like it weighed one thousand pounds. And the motion, when he tried to move, transmitted itself to his injured left arm, sending off a fiery pulse.

Defeated, he slumped back against the examining table. "Fine," he panted. "You win."

Dr. McCroy smiled sweetly. "I usually do."

* * *

"Well gentlemen, here he is. I'll finish filling out the discharge papers," she reached into her pocket and came out with a handful of prescriptions. "Here's your scripts. Sam or Caleb can run down to our pharmacy and get them filled for you before you leave," she smiled. "Isn't that convenient? That way, you can go straight home."

"I'll fill 'em." Caleb said, taking the slips of papers. He looked down at them.

The first one was a prescription for Levaquin, a heavy-duty antibiotic. Sixty pills, and a refill.

Obviously, Dr. McCroy was taking no chances. That was good.

Caleb _had_ seen the mangled mess that Dean had managed to make of his shoulder, humerus, and clavicle back at Pastor Jim's.

The other two were for painkillers. One was for Vicodin. One hundred twenty pills. It was a combination medication that was used to relieve moderate to severe pain. Hydrocodone was a narcotic pain reliever that acts on certain centers in the brain to give pain relief. Acetaminophen was a non-narcotic pain reliever.

The other was OxyContin, also one hundred and twenty pills. Stronger narcotic pain medication similar to morphine.

Caleb checked the dosage, and whistled softly. 80 milligrams. He knew that OxyContin was pretty potent stuff, so Doc McCroy must've figured that Dean was going to be in a lot of pain.

"I'll go with you, Caleb. I can be finishing up Dean's chart while we walk." Elizabeth said, heading out the door.

Shrugging at Dean, Sam, and his father, Caleb trailed after Dr. McCroy.

She set a brisk pace, and he had to sprint to catch up to her as she stepped into an elevator.

"Our pharmacy is on the second floor." she explained.

There was silence for a moment, then Elizabeth spoke softly. "There's something bad going on, isn't there? With Dean?"

Caleb physically startled. _Well… I guess my reaction just gave her an answer._

She looked up at Caleb, her dark green eyes locking with Caleb's amber ones. "What? What is it?"

Swallowing hard, Caleb asked quietly. "How much did Pastor Jim tell you 'bout The

Brotherhood?"

Cocking her head to side, Caleb was struck at how beautiful she was. Even though she was closer to his father's age, she looked more like Caleb's thirty-seven.

"Well, everything of course. He knew I'd have to know… in case any of the injured hunters needed… 'specialized' treatment. The holy water and such," she paused. "Why?"

"Did he tell you about the demons?"

She shuddered briefly. "Yes. Why?"

He told her, haltingly, pausing frequently as to regain control of himself, of what happened in Cold Oak. (Although he left out the part of Sam being one of Azazel's special children)

So he just kept it brief. Just the fact, ma'am.

"Sammy was kidnapped by a demon named Azazel, along with a couple other kids around his age, Andy Gallagher, Lily Eastlake, Ava Wilson, and," Caleb gritted his teeth "Jake Talley."

Even though Jake was dead, it was still hard to say his name without wanting to dig him, and kill him again.

Elizabeth was watching him, eyes wide. She hit the stop button on the elevator, so Caleb could continue the story, without them being overheard.

"The demon took 'em all to a place Cold Oak, South Dakota. It's deserted, a ghost town. He wanted all of them to fight it out, and the last one standing… he wanted them for something."

Caleb swallowed. "They all started dying… Lily, then Andy. That's when Sam realized that Ava had been summoning an Acheri Demon that Azazel had placed there, and was killing off the competition so she'd survive. She tried to kill Sam, but Jake killed Ava first."

Eyeing him uneasily, Elizabeth asked. "Well, if Jake saved Sam, then what happened?"

Caleb closed his eyes. "Jake changed his mind. He decided that only one of them could make it out after all… and he stabbed Sam in the back. Severed his spinal cord."

Elizabeth's perfectly glossed mouth fell open in shock. "But-but…" she couldn't finish the sentence.

He nodded. "Yeah. Dean got just time to see it happen," Caleb swiped roughly at his eyes. "Sam died in his arms."

Dr. McCroy's mouth was still working soundlessly.

"After that… well, Dean kinda lost it. As you know how close he and Sam are. And with their dad dead, he felt like he was completely alone. So he drove to a crossroads, summoned a demon… and sold his soul for Sam's life," Caleb hung his head, eyes stinging fiercely, as he held back tears by sheer force of will. "He's got a little less than a year before the hellhounds kill him and drag his soul into hell."

Elizabeth looked horrified, sickened beyond belief. Pressing her full lips so tightly that they became nothing but a thin, white line.

"No," she whispered softly, then more loudly, more forcefully. "_No_!"

Caleb, not certain just what to do as having grown up most of his life without a motherly, feminine presence to be able to teach what to do in times like these, when a woman needed comfort.

So he settled for giving her a hug, and kind of awkwardly patted her back,

He also wiped at the tears that were running down her face, ignoring the fierce burning in his own.

"So Dean's just-just going to-to _die_?" she asked, her voice choked.

* * *

Here you again... another chapter (covers eyes)

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	8. Chapter 8

Thanks again to all my reviewers! You guys are my cheerleaders... the best encouragement a writer could ask for.

( **A/N 1- **_I'm referencing a couple of Ridley C. James fics, one, '**On The Wings of a Phoenix'** during which Dean is beaten by a pedophile who is killing children. Luckily though, Caleb has a vision and saves him before the damage is too severe. I'm just beating on him a little more. The other story I'm referencing is '**And Innocents' **So once more thanks to Ridley & Tidia, for this awesome universe they created… and for allowing us other authors to be a part of it.)_

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A/N 2-

_Now I know nothing about the medical profession. Zip, Nada, Zilch. But I'm fairly sure what I'm have Elizabeth do isn't really possible… (smiles) but again that's where the beauty of writing fiction comes in._

* * *

It wasn't like Elizabeth McCroy hadn't lost patients before.

She wasn't a miracle worker; merely a dedicated mortal doctor whose gift of medical expertise, though vast, could only take her so far.

But this, it felt like her heart was breaking, and she could feel the tears running hot and fast down her cheeks, and dripping off her chin.

She could honestly say she had never felt this awful before.

She had first met Dean Winchester years ago, when he was a small ten-year-old boy.

He had been beaten badly by what James Murphy later told her was a serial-killing pedophile named Peter Marcus, from whom Dean barely escaped from.

Jim had convinced her to treat everyone that had been injured rescuing Dean at his cabin, rather than the hospital.

Which was when she first started to get the inkling that something was up with this strange family.

Both Mackland and Caleb had suffered minor gunshot wounds, grazes really. Painful, but not life-threatening.

Dean on the other hand, had slight damage to his vocal cords from where the man, Marcus, had attempted to strangle him. A nasty gash in his forehead that required eight stitches. A fractured left wrist. Three cracked ribs. A dislocated knee.

And that's when Jim Murphy came clean with everything. Fighting ghosts, dark creatures… demons.

And of course, he had explained about the Brotherhood. Apparently, it was three people, each having an important position. Jim Murphy was the Guardian, which apparently was being like king. He gave the orders. And handed out the silver rings, like the one that gleamed on her own right hand. Although she had no idea _where _he got the silver.

Mackland Ames, Caleb's father, and famous neurologist and neurosurgeon, was the Scholar, which meant he did the research for the extremely difficult hunts. He was also apparently psychic, a gift that he emerged with after coming out a four-month coma, from a result of a car accident when he was in his mid-twenties.

Apparently, she had learned not too long after, Caleb was psychic as well.

But rather receiving them in an injury, he had been born with them.

Which had caused him to have a long, horrible, frightful adolescence, saddled with gifts that not only that he just didn't understand them, but was terrified of. But once he landed in Mac's life, and Dr. Ames adopted him, the older psychic worked with, and Caleb mastered his abilities… eventually even surpassing his father.

Then she was told about the Knight… Jonathan Winchester, the father of two small children. But apparently also the guardian of the Scholar and the Guardian, who were frequently targets of hunters trying to attempt a coup, and from other danger.

So in other words, John Winchester, though she had been charmed by him at first, had felt slightly disgusted after that.

Did he not see he had two little boys who desperately needed him?

Apparently not, because John Winchester continued to hunt.

Dean joining him on the jobs when he was eleven.

* * *

When she had first met Dean Winchester, he'd been a frightened, traumatized child.

Whom after that incident with Peter Marcus, she also taken care of a nasty case of pneumonia and hypothermia a half-year later when he, along with Sam and Caleb, were kidnapped by a member of their Brotherhood, vying for James Murphy's position.

Then there was the time when Dean was twenty, and Caleb twenty-eight, when they were involved in a rather bad car accident. So bad, it required them to be cut out of the vehicle.

It had occurred during winter, so both of them were suffering from mild hypothermia.

Caleb had suffered a moderate concussion. Dean, on the other hand, had been stabbed through the left side of his abdomen by a flying piece of metal, pinning him to the car seat, and causing rather nasty bleeding… both externally and internally. His right arm was broken, and he too had a concussion, though not as serious as Caleb's.

They had gotten them out then, thanks to Sam, and saved them against all odds.

Over the years, he'd been a frequent patient… but as he told her once as she was as she stitching up horribly deep gashes on his back that looked they were from sort of animal attack (he told her that they were from a creature called a Wendigo) that hunting was a dangerous gig.

She still remembered the conversation.

* * *

__

"Jesus, Dean these are awful! Do you know how many stitches I'm going to have to put in? What in the hell did this?"

She had him laying on his stomach, shirt off to reveal a back with gouges that started slightly at his shoulder-blades and trailed down to pool in the waistband of his jeans. His whole back was a sticky, blood-splattered mess. Even as she pulled on her latex gloves, blood was running freely from the wounds and on to the table.

"A Wendigo." Dean said, and gritted his teeth, as pressed down on the deep, ragged wounds.

"What's a Wendigo?" Elizabeth asked, trying to keep his mind off the pain a little.

Dean bit his lip to hold back a scream as Elizabeth hit a particularly painful spot.

He gave himself a moment to compose himself, then replied, his voice rough.

"A Wendigo is a creature that was once human but during hard times, or maybe they were just sick like that, transformed into an immortal evil spirit when they became a cannibal. They're cursed to wander the land, always hungry for human flesh. And the only way to kill them is to torch the fuckers."

She shook her head. "They why go after them?"

"'Cause their victims… the ones don't immediately eat, they hang up in a cave to eat later. During their hibernation period…"

"These ones were a group of teenagers out camping out by Lake Minnetonka Three boys and three girls. It killed two of them right, one boy, Sean Ross, and a girl, Lindsay Ford. The other four. Aiden Harlow, Lauren Ford, Micah Parker, and Luke Harlow." Dean hissed, as Elizabeth finished wiping off the blood. "I had to save them before it came back and ate the rest of them."

He heard her sigh. "What?" he asked tiredly.

"The wound area is too large for me to use only a local anesthesia… I'm going to have to go with Regional."

Dean pressed his head down further into folded arms. "Which means?"

She raised an eyebrow. " It involves an injection of a local anesthetic around major nerves or the spinal cord to block pain from a larger but still limited part of the body. Usually an epidural or spinal anesthesia."

He waved a hand. "Whatever Doc. Go to work. Do your worst." he said, turning around to grin at her.

So she had watched Dean grow from a frightened child to a strong, confident warrior who would sacrifice himself to save others.

She seen that quality in him years ago, and had been frightened by it, terrified by what may come to pass.

Well now, she knew.

* * *

Caleb waited while Elizabeth filled Dean's prescriptions.

But she didn't stop at the Levaquin, Vicodin and OxyContin.

She continued to fill a literal shopping bag full of round amber bottles of medication.

She put in two or three of each prescription, although she just placed them in unmarked bottles. Carisoprodol, which was a muscle relaxant. Percocet, which was another pain killer, and also Darvocet, Tylenol number 4 with Codeine. Lorcet 10/650.

She threw in your basic Penicillin, which would treat an ordinary infection.

Azithromycin extended-release suspension, which would treat bacterial and MRSA infections. More antibiotics, Amoxicillin, which was a penicillin-type antibiotic.

Naproxon, a non-steroidal, anti-inflammatory drug

Promethazine, which was used to treat nausea.

Caleb raised his eyes, but didn't comment. She obviously caught the look though. "I used to give Jim some free medication… before he told me about the hunting, I always assumed it was for his parishioners. But it wasn't, was it?"

"No," Caleb said. "The church had a special fund set aside for that. Jim was using that for the hunters… especially hunters like Dean and Sam's father, who didn't like what he considered unnecessary trips to the hospital. He figured he'd learned enough in the Marines to get by."

Elizabeth McCroy had liked John Winchester, and had cried upon hearing of his death.

But what she had learned about the man over the years, from Caleb, and what Jim Murphy let slip, she _didn't _think he was a good father.

"That's what I thought sometimes, too." Caleb said quietly.

Startled, she glanced up.

He sighed. "Sometimes, he'd leave the in such Godforsaken places that when I showed up, I wanted to track him down… beat the shit outta him and ask him what the hell he was thinking. He'd also get so involved in a hunt that he'd basically forget he _had _kids. The hunt would go over, and they'd run out of food. Leaving Dean trying to scramble to find a way to get money for food and rent. The first time I remember him doing it was when he was nine-years-old."

A spark of fire lit up Elizabeth's dark green eyes. "What the hell was he thinking? A nine-year-old should out _playing_… not worrying about paying the bills," she shook her head, swallowed hard. "It's not wonder that he-he," she choked briefly on tears, thick in her throat. "It's no wonder that he sacrificed himself for Sam. It sounds like he's been doing it all his life."

"Yeah," Caleb agreed, sounding choked up himself. "That's what I thought. I tried to help him, tried to tell John that Deuce and Sam deserved better. But maybe I should have acted… my dad and I… we should have taken them away to live with Mac and me. I mean I hunted, but Mac rarely did. They would've had a stable home life. Dean-"

"Dean, from what I understand, idolized his father. No matter what he did, he loved the man. So I think it just would have caused major problems if you and Mackland would have tried to take custody of them," Tenatively, she squeezed Caleb's hand. "It sounds like you did the best you could for them growing up."

Caleb swallowed. "Thanks. But why doesn't it feel like I did?"

She was silent. "Let me finish getting some more stuff for you guys… I assume I you're going with Dean?"

"Yeah. He and I are going North Carolina-"

He was abruptly cut off. "North Carolina? Why in God's name are you going to North Carolina?"

He bit his lower lip. "My dad's long-term girlfriend, Esme Madrigal, well, uh… she's a witch."

Elizabeth's auburn-blond eyebrows rose. "I thought you guys hunted witches."

"Well, yeah some of them," Caleb grinned. "But just like in _Harry Potter, _there are good witches and bad witches. Esme's a good witch. Her son, Joshua, is a member of the Brotherhood. And, God forbid me, he's a pretty good hunter."

She nodded, indicating that she was still listening.

"Anyway, Esme belongs to a coven out in North Carolina. And apparently, there's a couple a powerful witches in it… and we we're hoping-"

Elizabeth stared at him unblinkingly. "So to simplify things, you and Dean are going to North Carolina… in hopes that you can find a witch that can break Dean's deal?"

Caleb sighed. "No. I wish it was that easy. You see, if the demon that holds Dean's contract gets word that we're trying to screw with the deal… then Sam automatically goes back to being dead."

She looked sickened, but continued throwing bottles of medication in the sack she had grabbed to put all of it in.

Every now and then, Caleb caught a glimpse of what she was tossing in. Mostly antibiotics and painkillers. Obviously she knew what they needed.

It would be a good thing, too. Caleb, thanks to Mac's medical connections, could usually get the medication he needed. Took a little time, but he could get it.

Dean and Sam though, thanks to their stubborn, prideful natures, usually got along with nothing stronger than aspirin or Advil.

No matter how bad the wound was.

As for infections, they just hoped and prayed they wouldn't get one. And if they did, it usually it had to wait until it was so bad that it required hospitalization.

Caleb snorted. He didn't why he said _them _when it was almost always _Dean._

"Okay. That _should _last you…" Elizabeth said, standing. "Hopefully, because there's enough drugs in here that if anyone caught me giving them to you, I'd never be a doctor again."

However, there was no sting in her words, as they were said with a warm smile.

But Caleb took it seriously. "If you think you're going to get in trouble-"

Elizabeth cut him off. "Ever since I started working with Jim, I've been double-ordering the prescriptions that he asked for. Even after he died, I still continued to do it. So I had quite the stockpile here. No one will get in trouble," she swiped hastily at her eyes which were still intermittently leaking tears from bloodshot eyes. "Now let's go back up."

* * *

Dean had been talking shop with Mackland when Elizabeth and Caleb walked in, and froze as he looked into her face.

Her dark green eyes were reddened and filled with tears.

__

Shit,

Dean thought.

Elizabeth McCroy was one tough lady, he knew. He'd watched her attend to grotesque wounds without batting an eye. Deliver bad news to loved ones compassionately, but without breaking into tears.

This could only mean one thing.

It meant that Caleb had spilled the beans.

"Caleb." Dean growled.

"She had to know Deuce… for some odd reason, she likes you."

Dean locked eyes with Elizabeth. "It'll be okay."

"How is it _okay _if you're going to _hell_?" she asked, her voice shaking, rising in pitch.

"'Cause I saved Sammy."

* * *

Yet another chapter... pulls blanket over head.

* * *


	9. Chapter 9

__

So here we are… the final chapter. It's been a long ride, guys, but you, my faithful reviewers, for holding on the entire time. For that, I sincerely thank you. For all of the sweet, wonderful reviews conveying their sympathy for both the battle with my father's leukemia, and the death of my incredibly sweet brother-in-law, Andy.

Like I said, it was your reviews that kept me going. I doubt I would have finished this, if hadn't been for a delightful group of reviewers who cheered me on, and assured me that my writing **too **bad.

So again… thank you so much.

So here's the last chapter. And if you liked this at all, I've got the sequel in the works.

It'll be Dean and Caleb continuing on North Carolina to meet Esme and the coven of witches.

**A/N 1- **_I borrowed another wonderful fic from Ridley, although this one does not go in the Brotherhood AU series, but is still great. It's called **'Like Forever Had Gone By'**_

* * *

And that was all that it boiled down to.

He Had Saved Sammy.

Elizabeth had heard about Sam, back when she met Dean, and had knew more about him than she did about Dean.

Why? Because practically everything Dean did, every breath he took, was aimed at protecting Sam.

She knew some of this firsthand, from Dean. In the earlier years, after the aftermath that Peter Marcus had wreaked, Dean had wanted his younger brother.

Who at the time, had been taken by his maternal grandfather, Charles Connor.

Dean wanted Sam, for two different reasons.

One was automatically understandable. He wanted Sam for comfort … but the other reason was to protect him.

His grandfather, he had told his father, couldn't possibly protect Sammy because _he _didn't know what was out there.

__

Thissaid by a ten-year-old little boy, determined to keep his younger brother safe from what _he _did know what was out there, hiding in the dark.

Caleb had reluctantly told her a little back then after Pastor Jim had given her a ring, telling her about the little boy who so intrigued her.

How his mother, Mary was killed in a fire when Dean was four. There was a demon involved, and Mary had been suspended on the ceiling, her abdomen slit open.

Dean had seen it, before his father had placed a baby Sam in Dean's arms and told him to run.

For a year after that, watching his mother die, Dean wouldn't talk.  
It had taken intensive therapy with Mac before he spoke again, Caleb had told her.

Although Mac had told _her _that he believed it had been his son that had gotten a young Dean to open up.

He'd also climb into Sam's crib at night, so that if any more monsters came a-calling during the night… they'd have to go through Dean to get to his little brother.

It was a habit, Caleb admitted, that Dean never completely grew out of.

Wherever the Winchesters where staying; Dean _always _slept on the bed closest to the door… clutching a razor-sharp hunting knife under his pillow.

In fact, Elizabeth knew it's presence was under his cheap hospital pillow right now.

* * *

He loved John Winchester, Caleb had told her. He was more than a beloved mentor, he was more like a uncle or a second father.

In fact, Elizabeth knew that Caleb had identification that ID'd him as Caleb Winchester, as he had used it here once before.

But unfortunately, after his wife's death, John Winchester's parenting skills had went to hell.

Elizabeth hadn't noticed all of this at first… when Dean was younger. But once she had been allowed in their inner circle, she had been allowed tidbits about John's child-rearing, it had all slowly been revealed.

How Caleb had valiantly tried to protect the boys… despite John's erratic moods.

How John used Dean to control Caleb and Sam to control Dean.

* * *

She broke her thoughts of John Winchester, and focused on her patient. "You guys better find a way to fix this… or I swear to God I'll go down to hell myself and drag your ass back."

Dean shot her a crooked smile. "That I'd love to see," the smile remained, but sobered. "So I can I blow this popsicle stand?"

Elizabeth sighed. "I wish you'd stay one more day… but I understand. Time is of the essence. So yes, you're free to go, but under strict instructions to take it easy. And I mean it. Let's roll you down. While you're already in the wheelchair."

* * *

It was a grim little group that marched out to the Impala and Mac's Land Rover.

When they came to a stop before the cars, Dean managed a grin for Elizabeth, and while standing on still-trembling legs, did something he had never done before.

He gave her a kiss on the cheek, a soft one, the merest brushing of his lips against her face.

"Goodbye Liz."

And with a burst of sudden clarity, Elizabeth knew what he was doing.

He was saying _goodbye. _As in the final time.

"No," she said, shaking her head vehemently. "No, damn you. Don't you go saying your goodbyes. Either you and Caleb are going to find your witch in North Carolina, or Sam and Mackland will find something at Jim's. But this is _not _goodbye. This is see you later," she paused, then asked sharply. "Got it?"

Dean smiled faintly. "Yes, ma'am."

"All right then," Elizabeth cursed herself as she felt the stinging start up behind her eyes again. "Now get your ass out of here. And I expect to see you back here… uninjured, and with good news."

He started to make a smart-ass reply, but stopped as he saw her eyes shimmer with moisture.

"All right," he whispered. "I'll try my best, Liz."

She nodded briskly, after hugging Mac, Caleb and Sam, she kissed Dean's cheek once more.

They locked eyes once more, hers as soft and sad as Dean had ever seen them.

Then she turned, and fled back into the hospital.

* * *

Dean felt miserable at causing Elizabeth any torment.

But he shoved it aside as he told himself

__

Had to be done, man. If you hadn't made the deal

_Sammy would be dead._

He felt Caleb's arm gently take hold of his good arm as he started to sway.

Looking at Sam, he asked, with a raised eyebrow. "You gonna be okay, Sammy?"

His younger brother snorted. "Am _I _gonna be okay?"

Dean frowned. "Yeah. Why?"

"Look at yourself Dean! You have a cast on your arm, a gunshot wound which was badly infected… still is, apparently, if Dr. McCroy has you on such strong antibiotics. So I'm _fine… _you should be concerned about yourself."

"Dude… chill. I just meant are you gonna be okay with us splitting up. You seemed kinda tense about it up in hospital room."

Sam shoved his hands in the pockets of his jeans, appearing sheepish. "It's just… for a few a rare times, we haven't been separated since you came to get me from Stanford."

It was hard to imagine, but Stanford had been three years ago.

And the kid was right, Dean reflected. Except for the time that Sam had gotten angry with Dean, and went after their father, when he snuck out to hunt down the other 'special children' like himself, after Dean had spilled the beans. When Sam was possessed by demon-bitch Meg, and took off.

But the last time had been the worst. Because physically, Sam hadn't gone anywhere.

He had been dead.

Thinking about it gave Dean a horrible mental picture… Sam laying still, silent… not breathing on that fucking mattress.

He shuddered.

"Dean," came Sam's worried voice. "Dean, are you okay, man? You just went really pale. Do we need to take you back inside?"

Shaking his head, Dean came back to the present. He swallowed hard, the bitter taste of bile in his mouth. Like having a mouthful of acid-soaked cotton balls.

"I'm okay, Sammy. Just… bad memories."

Sam nodded.

Mac cleared his throat. "I hate to break this up, boys… but we probably should get going," he looked sideways at Dean and Caleb. "Would you like to take the Land Rover? It might be more comfort-"

"No," Dean said immediately. "I'd rather have the Impala."

__

Home

he thought. Although without Sam, it wasn't complete.

But Caleb would be with him. So it would be okay.

He turned back to his brother. "So… I'll see ya soon Sammy. It shouldn't be too long, but if it does-" he shrugged helplessly.

Sam stepped up to his brother and carefully took his good arm in an awkward sort of embrace. "If it does," he gave his brother a small smile. "It'll be like forever has gone by."

Dean jolted.

Sam looked up at him, dimples appearing. "What? Did you think I'd forgot?"

"No," Dean replied hoarsely. He swallowed hard. "We'd better get going."

* * *

(**A/N: **_I don't mean to offend anyone by classifying **Death Cab for Cutie**, **Maroon 5**, **Linkin Park**, or **Fall Out Boy **as emo music. I don't really believe there's any really classifications like that for rock. If you like 'em, great… if you don't… well, just don't listen to them. You don't need to mock other people's choices. But this is how I see Dean and Caleb. _

_Mine for instance, are rather eclectic. My favorite band of all time, for instance, is **Metallica**, but I also really enjoy **Linkin Park**, and **Death Cab for Cutie**. I also enjoy **Creedence Clearwater Revival, Kansas, and Aerosmith **but also have **Breaking Benjamin, Dashboard Confessional, Staind, Nirvana, Korn, Marilyn Manson, Johnny Cash, Pearl Jam, Bush, The Killers, Macy Gray, Missy Elliot, Eminem, Pink Floyd, Foreigner, Guns N' Roses, The Rolling Stones, The Who, Interpol, Green Day, 30 Seconds to Mars, Panic at the Disco **and yes, **My Chemical Romance **on my iPod. And that's just naming a few. So nobody get mad as I listen to most of the so-called 'emo' music.) _

* * *

After all the goodbyes were said, Caleb and Dean settled into the Impala and watched as Sam and Mac drove away in the Land Rover.

Caleb looked over at Dean with a wicked grin.

"What Damien?"

"I hope you've updated your music collection since the last time I was in here… or maybe that Sammy left some of-"

"Some of what," Dean snorted. "Some of his emo music? I hate that crap. God, I swear if I have to listen about some dude joining a Black Parade, just one more time… somebody's gonna get shot," shaking his head, Dean said. "I _knew _it was a horrible idea to install a CD player when I was rebuilding her," He sighed. "But they stopped making cassette tapes, so what ya gonna do?" he said on a shrug, forgetting the injury momentarily.

It chose to remind himself by sending a white-hot bolt of electric pain down his arm, making him bite down on a scream that threatened to escape.

But he must have looked as bad as he felt, because all talk ceased and Caleb began to dig around in the plastic bags he been carrying.

He came up with a bottle of water, and a round amber prescription bottle.

"Here," Caleb said, shoving two white pills into Dean's hand. "Take these."

But of course Dean, being the stubborn bastard that he was, eyed the pills with an air of suspicion. "What are they?"

"OxyContin… which Elizabeth proscribed herself."

Caleb looked at his friend. All of the signs of Dean in extreme pain was there. His face was taut and set, lips moving as he silently sang to himself.

"Dude, take your pills." Caleb said mildly.

"Nah, I'm good," Dean said, forcing a smile for Caleb. "Everything's fine."

Hah. If that smile had meant to reassure Caleb, it had the exact opposite reaction.

Because watching Dean smile was more like watching a grimace of agony.

Which meant he was going to have to play dirty, if he wanted Dean to take those pills.

"Okay," he said amiably. "If you be a good boy and take your pills… we'll install some new temporary rules of the road."

Dean narrowed his eyes. "Like what?"

"How 'bout the cripple picks the music, driver shuts his cakehole?"

"And if I _don't _take the pills?"

"Hmm," Caleb paused for a moment to rifle through the CD collection. "Then I see a lot of emo music coming your way, Deuce. Let's see here… we have… _Death Cab for Cutie, Maroon 5, Linkin Park… _oh, here's a good one… _Fall Out Boy._"

Dean growled. "Fine… I'll take the damn pills… just put those fucking things away man."

With a small chuckle, Caleb carefully placed the pills in Dean's right hand.

Who, with a roll of his eyes, placed them in his mouth, then picked up the bottle of water and washed them down.

"So Princess," Caleb asked. "What are you gonna have us listen too?"

A pale imitation of Dean's usual smirk washed over his face, and he began to flip through their CD case, until he came up with…

A burned CD that Sam had obviously made. Written on the front, in black marker was:

**__**

Dean's CD- The Best of Mullet Rock

Caleb laughed, and Dean gave a little grin as he pushed the CD in.

Familiar rhythms played, then James Hetfield's familiar growl came through the speakers.

__

"And the road becomes my bride"

"I have stripped of all but pride"

"So in her I do confide"

"Gives me all I need"

Caleb hung his head. "I'm gonna regret making this little deal, aren't I? I have a feeling we're going to be listening to Metallica and eighties crap all the way to North Carolina."

Dean bobbed his head happily. "Yep."

__

"And with dust in throat I crave"

"_Only knowledge will I save"_

"_To the game you stay a slave"_

"_Nomad vagabond"_

"_Call me what you will"_

As they pulled out of the hospital's parking and began to drive in the opposite direction, Dean couldn't help but look back in the direction his brother had taken.

Caleb caught the glance. "Everything's gonna be okay, Deuce."

"How do you know that Damien?"

He grinned, trying to show more confidence that he felt, and distract Dean. "Psychic, Deuce… remember."

It worked, albeit briefly as Dean cracked a grin. "You sayin' you've a vision of me in your creepy-ass head?"

"Yep. I saw you, me, and Sammy all running the Triad… Mac living in Hawaii."

Dean snorted, but became serious again. "Caleb man, if this doesn't work… if we can't-"

"Shut up Deuce. It's gonna work."

"I'm just saying… take care of Sammy for me. Take care of each other."

Caleb glanced over at him. "What part of 'shut up Deuce' did ya not understand?"

"All of it."

A beat of silence, and Caleb blew out a breath. "You know I'd watch out for Sammy, dude. You don't even have to ask. But nothing, I repeat, _nothing… _is going to happen to you."

Dean smiled suddenly. "All right Damien."

Suddenly suspicious at the easy acquiescence, Caleb cocked his head to the side. "Okay… what's going on in that freaky head of yours now?"

The smile burst into a grin. "Just wondering if we need to pop in your Enya CD?"

"_I _told you it was _Mac's_!"

Dean just smiled back, smug and serene, and Caleb felt his shoulders slump.

This was gonna one hell of a _long _drive to North Carolina.

* * *

****

The End (Thanks to everyone for reading!)

* * *


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